


Deserving

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: :'), Angst, Arguments, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Character Death, PTSD, snuggling in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin is shaken by the death of some of his warriors on a routine patrol. Thorin tries to comfort him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deserving

**Author's Note:**

> In most stories it's Thorin receiving comfort (which he totally needs, make no mistake) so I thought that this time, I'd love to see it the other way around. I'm still convinced that Dwalin needs Thorin just as much as Thorin needs him, although it might be less obvious.
> 
> Oh, and be prepared to hear more about Oda and Vigdís at some point. Those two have quite the backstory which I will hopefully get around telling some time ;).

Dwalin's steps were heavy on the ground. Thorin heard him long before he came into view; although his tread could be impossibly quiet if he wanted it to be Dwalin made no effort to disguise his approach now. When he heard his steps stop at the entry to the forge, Thorin turned around. He frowned when he saw Dwalin's face - instead of the usual tired but warm expression accompanied by a soft smile when he came home after several days' travel with the troops there was only bone-deep weariness in his eyes and more hard lines around his mouth than Thorin remembered seeing there when he had left. He set down his tools and grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands before he walked over to Dwalin.

“What happened?"

Dwalin didn’t lift his gaze, looking down at his own hands as if they held an explanation for the events of the day.

“They’re dead, Thorin.” he whispered. “Andri, Oda, Nomi, Rórin...they are all dead.”

Thorin stopped mid-movement, his bowels having turned to ice. He knew those names, knew the dwarrows they belonged to. Memories entered his head – ever cheerful Oda laughing with Vigdís, her One, patient Andri cleaning his weapons, quiet Nomi’s voice singing at the yearly feast of remembrance, boisterous Rórin whose hand was always quicker than his mind. Dead...Thorin tried not to think of their relatives, their families. For such tragedy to befall them...

He didn’t reply, but walked closer to Dwalin who was still standing in the entrance of the forge as if thinking himself unworthy of entering. Thorin knew better than to keep asking – Dwalin would tell him eventually.

“They set upon us close to the pass. A large pack of orcs and wargs– thirty, maybe more, way too many even for us. It was a trap.” His voice grew more frantic with each word that he was speaking and Thorin saw that he barely held himself together. ”I should have seen it coming, should have known-“

“Dwalin.” Thorin gripped his arms, tried to calm the trembling in his hands. “Calm down.”

“No!” Dwalin jerked free from Thorin’s grip with so violent a movement that Thorin almost took a step back.

“They were _my_ responsibility, Thorin. They were _my warriors_. And now they are dead.” There was a desperation in his eyes that Thorin had rarely seen there.

"But it wasn't your fault, Dwalin. The orcs would have attacked anyway, whether you’d known it or not." Thorin's tone was calm and measured, trying desperately to keep Dwalin anchored in the presence and not lose him to the memories that must be surging through his head. His One rarely lost his calm except in anger; for him to be on the verge of breaking was so unusual that even Thorin had seldomly seen it. Much like himself, Dwalin tended to reign in all his emotions tightly, except when he was drunk or his temper stroke. Never, however, would he have shown any weakness in front of his soldiers. Only Thorin and at times Balin were allowed to see him like this.

"How can you know if you weren't there?" Dwalin's voice was loud, his hands trembling. He had lost soldiers before, but never so many at once on what had been supposed to be nothing more than a routine patrol. His words stung, and in more ways than one - he knew that Thorin would much rather be out with him and his people than sitting inside at countless council meetings and buried in paper work and documents. The hurt at the comment showed in Thorin’s eyes and Dwalin took a step back and averted his gaze from Thorin's face.

“I’m sorry, Thorin. I didn’t-“ His voice was quiet, almost broken. He lifted his hands and let them fall back at his side, helpless in the face of his own temper. "I'm sorry." he repeated again.  

Thorin took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. He knew that Dwalin hadn't meant what he said, or at least not in the way it came across. With a few steps he was at his One's side again, taking his face in his hands and softly bringing their foreheads together. No other could have earned his forgiveness as quickly as Dwalin.

"It's fine." he whispered. His thumbs were stroking over Dwalin's cheeks, rubbing his thick beard and the skin beneath. "Go and wash off the dirt from the road. I'll see whether Balin has any leftovers from dinner yesterday. And you should go talk to your brother, too."

Dwalin’s guilty glance showed Thorin that he had indeed guessed right, that Dwalin hadn’t yet had the courage to face Balin.

“Give me your pack.” Thorin gently nudged Dwalin’s side. He knew his friend wouldn’t relinquish his weapons, as was only proper for a warrior, but at least he could take the burden of his bedroll, provisions and other necessities off him.

Dwalin nodded and made a movement to slip the straps off his shoulders when he suddenly stopped for the fraction of a moment and grunted in pain before continuing. Only few would have noticed it, but Thorin wasn’t just anybody – he could have pictured every one of Dwalin’s movements in his sleep.

“Wait.” Thorin reached out to still his arm and Dwalin made a motion as if to withdraw, but thought better of it at the last moment.

“You’re hurt.” It wasn’t so much a question as a fact. Thorin frowned when shoved back the fabric over Dwalin’s arm and discovered a hap-hazardly put on bandage that fresh blood was already oozing through. Dwalin averted his gaze once again, knowing how angry Thorin would be at him for hiding it.

“It’s just a warg bite.” he murmured. “Nothing serious.”

“Let me see.” Thorin’s tone was almost soft, but there was no mistaking the hint of steel underneath it. Dwalin yielded his arm with a sigh, trying not to flinch as Thorin carefully unwrapped the bandage and mustered the puncture wounds with a critical gaze, softly feeling the edges with his fingers.

“You know better than me that warg bites tend to get infected quickly. And your skin is already hot. I’ll get Óin.” Thorin’s anger was now unmistakeable, but the shadow in his eyes belied his worry.

“Thorin-“

“You dying won’t bring them back, you know.” Dwalin had expected snarling, anger, a harsh reprimand for his carelessness maybe – not Thorin’s voice going quiet and rough and the grip around his wrist getting stronger as if his One was desperately trying to hold on to him. Dwalin closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he used his healthy arm to draw Thorin closer to him until their bodies were pressed against each other. After a moment, Thorin’s body relaxed against his and he let out a small sigh, allowing Dwalin to kiss him softly.

“I’m sorry.” Dwalin said again, his hand stroking Thorin’s back. “I know.”

“Good.” Thorin attempted a little smile which came out slightly lopsided, but was still better than nothing. Dwalin mirrored it with one of his own before he stepped out of their embrace, although his hand lingered on Thorin’s arm for a bit longer before he withdrew completely.

It wasn’t until late in the evening that they had the opportunity to speak in private again. Dwalin had insisted on visiting the Ones and families of those that had fallen first, one by one and Thorin was unable to find it in himself to forbid him what was his duty. What he could and did do, however, was to accompany Dwalin, provide him with strength through his presence and offer words and gestures of comfort to those most affected by the loss.

Dwalin was still unusually withdrawn by the time they entered their bedroom. He undressed, taking care not to aggravate his freshly cleaned, stitched up and bandaged wound and crawled under the covers of their shared bed in almost total silence. Thorin followed soon after, blowing out the oil lamps and candles until almost total darkness had descended over the room. With a short moment of hesitation, he touched Dwalin’s shoulder, waiting if he would allow his touch. Dwalin stiffened slightly at first, but then relaxed with a soft sigh, moving slightly closer to his One, allowing him to give the comfort he had denied himself all day.

Thorin wrapped his arms around him from behind, softly kissing the back of his neck through his hair and letting the warmth of his body envelop them both. They had always found it easier to talk in darkness; somehow not seeing, but only feeling the person who one was talking to lowered the barriers that seemed to exist at daylight.

“I can still see them when I close my eyes.” Dwalin said quietly. Thorin replied nothing, just increased the strength of his embrace. “Staring at me, asking me why I have failed to protect them all...like father, like mother, like Frerin.” Thorin’s heart did a painful lurch at the mentioning of those names – their memories and deaths, although so long ago, would never be forgotten in his soul and never cease to hurt.

“Rórin was the first one who fell. They caught him in the eye with an arrow before they lunged at us. Oda was the next, catching a strike aimed at Narin...we were too far away to help and she had no chance, wounded as she was and overwhelmed by so many. We don’t know how Andri and Nomi died – we found them later, close together. Andri was still alive, but his wounds...it was clear he wouldn’t make it. So I-“

Something caught in Dwalin’s throat and he stopped talking. Thorin shushed him gently – there was no need to continue. Both of them had experienced it before, had been forced to give a merciful death to those of their comrades who were injured beyond saving.

Dwalin turned around in Thorin’s arms, his face now so close that Thorin could feel the warmth of his breath on his own skin.

“So much death.” he whispered. “Will it ever end?”

Thorin wished he could have answered him with a ‘yes’ – but such dishonesty would only betray Dwalin’s trust. Instead he drew him closer until even the last space between their bodies disappeared and answered truthfully.

“I don’t know. But I promise you, Dwalin, I will give my best to try and avoid as much of it as I can. For your sake. And that of our people.”

“Thank you.” Dwalin’s answer was almost inaudible.

Thorin held him as he finally broke down, Dwalin’s face nestled in the soft curve between his neck and shoulder, one hand slowly stroking his hair, the other his back and his lips pressing soft kisses on the bald top of Dwalin’s head. When the trembling in his body finally stilled, Dwalin thought he could hear a soft humming coming from Thorin, reverberating through his wide chest and slowly filling him with calm. He smiled when he recognised the song – it was an old ballad, the first song Thorin had learned to sing when they had still been dwarflings, safely ensconced in the halls of the Lonely Mountain.

They held on to each other, their bodies closely intertwined throughout the entire night, giving and taking comfort in equal measure. When Dwalin finally glided over into sleep, he thought the last thing he could hear was Thorin’s soft breathing in his ear and the reassuringly strong beat of his heart next to his own.


End file.
